


As Life Goes On

by Spindizzy



Category: Pet Shop of Horrors, Petshop of Horrors
Genre: Community: psohdrabble, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-01-24
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-06 16:03:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 76
Words: 12,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spindizzy/pseuds/Spindizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of 500 words-or-less fic for Petshop of Horrors originally posted at PSoHdrabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Worried

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn't want Leon knowing he'd stayed up to wait for him with something close to panic. [Intended as an off-scene for Raison D'etat's fic "Unwilling Sleep."]

_Seven hours, three minutes, forty-two seconds._

He hadn't turned the lights on as it got dark. He didn't want Leon knowing he'd stayed up to wait for him with something close to panic. If he didn't arrive soon the police department would have a rather harassed visitor.

_Seven hours, five minutes, thirty-three seconds._

He knew, because he'd been counting the ticking of the kitchen clock - the only sound in the apartment - to block the voice that sounded like Grandfather whispering that Leon wasn't coming back, that he was in the house - the _bed - _of some _woman, _that he was lying in a pool of his own blood somewhere, that everything they'd sacrificed had been in vain -

_Seven hours, eight minutes, fifteen seconds_

It was taking all his centuries of practice to remain seated on the sofa, when he wanted to leap up and pace the room much as his detective did. But he remained seated, biting his lip, eyes fixed on the carpet he could barely see.

_Seven hours, nine minutes, fifteen seconds._

Leon was as faithful as the sun. But... But...

_Seven hours, ten minutes, twenty-two seconds._

Leon...


	2. Breaking Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it starts with breaking...

Leon's broken bones.   
_He's a cop. It's expected._  
Leon's broken hearts.  
_He's young, handsome, and popular with women. It's not a surprise._  
Leon's broken furniture.  
_He's got a bad temper and he drinks. It's something people live with._  
Leon's broken off from the police.  
_He deserves a break. It's all right._  
Leon's broken inside.  
_And there's no explanation for it._


	3. Musical Tastes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They all hear different things.

Leon listens to rock music - Metallica and the like. He's got the shirts to prove it.

Jill listens to romantic ballads, thinking how naive singers are, and hoping they're right.

Pat - Jill's friend from "over-seas" - apparently listens to Greenday because she hums "American Idiot" whenever she sees Leon.

The Chief listens to classical music to try and soothe his frazzled nerves after yelling at Leon.

D...

D listens to the funeral dirges of his customers from the second they walk into the store.


	4. Fairy Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D specialises in love, hope and dreams. Or so he says.

D specialises in love, hope, and dreams. Or so he says.

Leon claims to know better. He just can't prove it.

What D _really _specialises in is fairy-tales. Make-believe. The sort of thing you'd expect to find in a story book. But it's real, with the crystal beauty that works at the heart of every fairy-tale heroine.

But his are the old fairy-tales – the ones that children always suspect, the originals. Before the happy endings were tacked on to please the adults. The ones filled with blood, gore, intrigue – the just and unjust getting the punishment they so richly deserved.

D sells fairytales. Happy endings not necessarily included.


	5. Missing It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon gets coffee before he gets to the pet shop.

"Tea, detective?" D asked innocently, apparently ignoring the steaming plastic cup in his hand.

"No thanks," Leon replied smugly. "I got some coffee on the way over."

D tsked under his breath, then sipped on his tea, watching Leon over the top of his cup.

Leon smirked, sipped on his own drink. To his surprise, what had tasted fine once outside now tasted… weird.

Something told him it wasn't the incense. It was just wrong, sitting opposite D in the pet shop with something that didn't…

Leon groaned in surrender, and reached out for the sugar bowl.


	6. Habit Breaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Habits linger.

D sits. Watching. Waiting.   
Leon slams open the door. Scowling. Blustering.  
D looks up, mismatched eyes giving nothing away.  
Leon stops, mid-rant, looks away.  
D throws his tea cup across the room, watching impassively as it shatters against a wall.  
Leon thumps the door, then scrubs his eyes with the heel of his palm.  
D strokes his hair behind an ear with a trembling hand. Leon will not be coming. Not anymore.  
Leon runs a hand through his hair, looking round with bewildered frustration. D's not there. Not anymore.

Isn't it amazing how hard it is to break a habit?


	7. Gratitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gratitude never meant much to D.

_"Thank you, your eminence."  
"Thank you, Great One."_

Gratitude never meant much to D. In the past, it was just another homage paid to his kind.

_"Thank you so much Count."  
"Thank you Count. My Grandchildren will be thrilled."_

Now, it was simply good manners. Not really important until it was not given.

_"Thanks for NOTHING!"  
"Thanks for looking after Chris. (Get off my FOOT Chris...)"_

People rarely said what they meant - he knew that better than anyone.

Perhaps that was why it was a relief to speak to the Detective sometimes. Even his most sarcastic thanks were genuine.


	8. Deer Santa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris writes a letter to Santa. [Written for Christmas 2004.]

Deer Santa

For Christmas this yeer I wud like

Some roller skates  
To stay at Count D's shop insted of going home.  
T-chan to stop biting people

Cud you pleez stop Leon and the Count fighting? Pleez? I asked the Count and he said not to expect miracles.

And cud I hav sum chocolate for Count D and sum pretty things for Pon-chan and some cooking stuff for T-chan becaws Leon and the Count broke some of it when they were fiting.

From Chris Orcot

(Count D sez this bit's a PS. Please cud you tell my mom I'm sorry for killing her and being bad. Sam said I'm evil so I wont get anything, but cud you just pleez tell her?)


	9. Types of Speech

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon cannot just walk into the petshop at midnight and expect to be opened with open arms, D snaps. [Primarily a style-experiment, D/Leon implied.]

Leon cannot just walk into the petshop at midnight and expect to be opened with open arms, D snaps.

But Leon does, has been, and is gonna carry on, Leon argues.

Leon should get out before D sets the animals on him, D growls.

D wouldn't do that. D _likes_ Leon coming over, Leon teases.

D doesn't know where Leon gets these silly idea from, D sniffs.

Leon gets them from D, who's nothing if not silly. Leon chuckles.

D does not want Leon in the petshop. _Especially_ not in his bedroom, D splutters.

D doesn't mean that, Leon whispers.

Yes D does! Yes, oh yes. D sighs.

Does D still want Leon to go? Leon asks.

D doesn't have the breath to reply.


	10. Christmas Plots Part One.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jill should have known something was up.

Jill should have known something was up when Leon shushed Roy as she walked into the room.

She should have realised it was going to be bad when she caught Pat and Leon - who weren't exactly sworn enemies, but still not the best of friends - whispering in a corner in a pose you would usually associate with people who were a lot closer.

If she'd been more suspicious when even the CHIEF couldn't meet her eyes without spluttering, she wouldn't be in this situation. She wouldn't be in the grasp of two maniacs who were threatening her and wearing demented grins.

"Come on Jill," Pat coaxed, the effect marred by the camera she was brandishing. "It's not like it'll hurt you."

"Yeah, go on." Roy agreed. "You did it when you were drunk!"

"But that's - " Jill started, before her words were stolen by a very skilled, foul mouth and a warm arm wrapping around her waist. There was a click and flash from the camera, and Jill damned to hell the idiot who sold Leon mistletoe.


	11. Christmas Plots Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jill had been pissed. Very, very pissed.

Jill had been pissed. Very, very pissed. Almost homicidally so. But that was after she'd snapped out of the trance-like state she'd been in since the incident with the mistletoe. It had shut her up for most of the afternoon - the longest he'd ever known her to stay quiet.

Pat had better have got pictures.

He was still chuckling over it as he walked into the petshop, remembering the look on her face.

"Ah, Detective," D said lightly, standing and shaking out his skirts. "You just missed Miss Jill. She wanted me to do a favour for her."

"Uh-oh," Leon muttered, dropping onto the sofa. "She didn't ask you to set something on me did she? Poison my tea?"

D's eyes sparkled, and he seemed to be all-but _purring_. The words "Oh _shit_" sprang to mind. "Oh no detective. Her revenge was much more... _creative_ than that."

Leon was trapped between D and the sofa. It was his own fault really; he should have known better than to leave the mistletoe lying around where Jill could pass it on to a certain evil petshop owner.

Who, as it turned out, was also a damn fine kisser.


	12. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris used to love Christmas because of the snow. In LA there was no snow though. At least, not until the animals started on D's christmas present...

It all started with D's Christmas cake.

Well, it started with T-chan forbidding the other animals to help make aforesaid cake.

They reasoned that as it was a gift from all of them, they should be allowed to help.

T-chan reasoned that none of them could cook, therefore they should stay out of his kitchen.

That's when the flour started flying.

When D and Chris came in later, everything was covered in flour and it was still floating down from the ceiling.

"Just _what_ was going on here?" D demanded. Chris was staring around him though in elated wonder.

_'It's just like at Mama's!'_

T-chan smiled, improvising. "Can't you tell? It's snow for Chris!"


	13. Letting Chris Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon was late again.

D sits in his chair, eyes bright in the darkness of the shop, watching the door with terrifying focus.

Chris sits on the floor, hugging T-chan, looking nervously from the door to the Count, to the long fingernails tapping on the chair arm. He's torn between wishing Leon here to break the silence, and wishing Leon stays away so he's safe.

He doesn't think D'll hurt Leon. Sure, he'll yell. And he'll be mad. And if Leon's really bad, Chris'll hide somewhere where he can't hear it. But Leon'll be okay, and he'll show up again tomorrow after he's rested, ready to fight again.

Leon walks in, and D looks ready to lunge. But Leon gives him A Look, and his eyes go to Chris, curled up on the floor with tears in his eyes.

"Hey Count," Leon says, still looking. "How about we just say we've already fought and shit, and get on with whatever. Just for a change."

"What never seems to change is your language," D fusses, following his gaze through lowered lashes.

Chris has a feeling that he's being let off for once. And he can't really complain.


	14. Someone Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you're a cop, you give up all claims to normal life.

If you're a cop, you give up all claims to normal life. The Chief has told them this time and again; after knocking them up at three in the morning, after keeping them in till twelve at night.

Leon doesn't care. So he loses a few more hours of sleep, so he spends a few less hours in the bar. Big deal. It's a sentiment echoes by most of the force.

But then, they're young. Still young enough to not expect much from a relationship, to believe that after they're done with one they'll find another. They don't know, as he didn't know, how important people are.

His wife doesn't complain any more when he gets THOSE phone calls. She helps him up, checks the kids, kisses him goodbye. And he goes, and she stays, and he knows that she'll go back to bed and worry, as she worries every time he's late, thinking that this might finally be the day when he comes home in a coffin.

Sometimes, he thinks the kids are right. But then he gets home and sees the relief and the love on her face, and he hopes to God that someday all his force have someone to give them that look.


	15. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was stood outside, watching and waiting, staring at the sun...

He should have changed. Somewhere along the line, in the years it had been, the bastard should have aged, should have had the grace to look a _little_ different from how he used to.

But this was _him_. He _never_ did what he was supposed to.

Moving forwards, pushing through the crowd, studying him before he noticed. Moving closer, noticing more. The slightly longer hair, the slight crinkles around the corners of his eyes, the wary half-smile on his face. The hurt in his eyes that he hasn't found what he was looking for.

"Leon!" Jill yells, breaking through at last, flinging her arms around him. And Leon smiles, and grizzles, and blushes, and she babbles questions, avoiding the important question _why_.

Because she knows Leon, and she knows that some things will never change.


	16. Noble Sufferance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He stares at her, his heart in his throat. [Spoilers for the end of the series.]

He stares at her, heart in his throat. She hasn't changed, and yet she has. A beautiful woman, standing before him, and yet she's fading before his eyes. Her expression is brave – a noble woman abandoned by her lover, trying to keep a brave face on for the world.

He walks towards her, hesitantly brings his hands up. There's no reaction, so he dares to move closer, resting his forehead against her. The familiar scent - so faint! How long...? – wraps around him, and he feels like weeping.

"You miss him too, right?" Leon whispers. "God knows I do."

Then Leon opens the pet shop door and is wrapped in its mysterious, suffering embrace – much as he has been ever since he first walked through it's doors all those years ago.


	17. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D jerks upright in a cold sweat for the first time in what feels like eons.

D jerks upright in a cold sweat for the first time in what feels like eons.

_It was cold, so cold, and so dark and there was something behind him, something chasing - pursuing - _

He was unused to nightmares. He rarely had them.

_He fled through the woods, calling for help, but there's no response, there's no reply, he's alone he's alone he's alone - _

He so rarely dreamt at all. Perhaps that made it more terrifying.

_Laughter behind him. Hoarse, breathless laughter, because whoever it was knew they would catch him, knew he couldn't get away - _

D tried to rise from the bed, but his legs were shaky and he couldn't do it.

_It was as though his world had betrayed him - something crept around his ankle, snagging him, tripping him - _

He settled against the headboard again, staring at nothing, not thinking at all.

_He looked up, seeing only blue eyes dark with hate and a flash of silver - _

He doesn't go back to sleep.

The next dream he has is the same.

_And the knife is sharper and the eyes are darker, until..._


	18. Moody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D was in A Mood. A bad one.

D was in A Mood. A bad one. The sort that stripped paint off the walls and sent the pets scurrying for cover.

Leon walked in, brandishing chocolates. One thing led another - Leon breathed in, not even having time to sit down, and D started screaming at him.

Half an hour, an explosive argument, and a thirty second scuffle later, Leon stormed out, spitting curses.

D sat down and picked over the carcass of the chocolate box, his bad mood a thing of the past.


	19. Jealousy, Or Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wasn't jealous. Really.

He wasn't jealous. Really.

He didn't stare when His back was turned, expression blank but eyes dark with fury and fists clenched.

He didn't watch when He was talking to other people, making sure that the smiles he gave weren't broader than the one's He gave him, or that He wasn't standing too close.

He didn't kiss Him harder for that reason, or twine their bodies together, clutching at Him possessively as they slept, violet eyes flashing an unseen warning.

He was guarding his property, that's all. Not jealousy. Not jealousy at all.

He wasn't jealous at all.


	20. Unforgivable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing could have prepared D for this travesty of justice. Of course, to Leon it was funny as hell.

D stared around him in horror, eyes wide and face pale.

"No..." he whispered near-soundlessly. "This cannot be. Please... no..."

Leon patted his shoulder awkwardly. "I'm sorry Count," he mumbled, apparently trying to hide a smirk.

D nodded wordlessly, hand against his throat, fingernails dark and deadly against his skin. This was horrific - disgusting - unforgivable. His world was ending.

Madam C seemed almost as upset. "My apologies Count," she murmured. She looked near to tears.

It didn't register. His eyes never left the travesty before him.

The shelves were bare.

There was nothing left.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon stared at him, eyes wide. One hand drifted up and touched the cut on his cheek.

Leon stared at him, eyes wide. One hand drifted up and touched the cut on his cheek. The fingers came away bloody and smelling of cold tea. Leon held them in front of his face, but never looked away from D's face. The remains of the tea cup lay at his feet, rainbows sliding up and down the inner curve.

D blinked, shocked at himself, and clasped his hands before him to prevent them grabbing something else. "Go. You wanted to leave. Go. Get out of my sight. His voice sounded normal enough, but there was a slight tremor instead of the venom he intended.

Leon didn't move for endless seconds. Finally, he stepped away from the door, still wide eyed and stunned. "And have you throw things at me again? No thanks."

Porcelain crunches under Leon's foot - the rainbows flatten out and disappear. Suddenly, D's overwhelmed by the urge to laugh, to scream, to grab the detective and do something - anything - to make him look away.

"Very well, Detective," he says quietly - barely louder than a whisper. "Shall I pour you some more tea?"


	22. Scent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D always smelled the same. Leon USUALLY did.

The shop always smelled of incense and cake, never animals. Gentle scents. THAT never changed.

D always smelled of perfume, sweets and incense. Light, delicate scents that faded like dreams. THAT never changed.

Leon always smelled human. Cheap shampoo, cheaper aftershave, covering the sweat and indescribable reek of humanity.

But that DID change.

Occasionally, Leon would come in smelling of a better quality product. Sometimes he would leave with incense lingering around him in an invisible cloud.

And sometimes, he would smell of nature. In summer, he would smell of the grass he's been sprawled across in the park with Chris, or sea-salt that he'd been splashed with at the beach. In autumn and winter, he would smell of rain, and complain bitterly about it all the while.

D always smiled when Leon came in like that, and after he left, D would sit where he'd been until it faded, and the wonderful combination had seeped into his own clothing.

D had a handful of outfits that smelled like that, sealed away in the back of his wardrobe, never to be worn again.


	23. Normality Is as Normality Does

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Normality is as Normality Does. Of course, when normality include D and Leon...

They stare at each other, a stand off.

D's trembling with rage, finger nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood, head up and posture stiff. He looks like a wild eyed statue, so angry he can't even move.

Leon stands up slowly, unfolding from the chair he was slouched in. His eye tics, and his huge hands are clenched into a fist around his lighter. The cigarette he'd been about to light snapped in half, and he tosses it down on the table, like a signal for the fight to start.

Chris sits on the sofa, sipping his tea, ignoring them both completely.

This is normal, after all.


	24. Lack of Comprehension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You look so different bathed in moonlight and waiting for someone else. [Second person POV.]

You stand in the doorway for a few minutes, hands clasped tightly before you. You probably would have lingered longer, but Chris and the pets come to see what is so fascinating.

Nothing obvious, it's more what _isn't_ there that's making you linger, making you wait, making you watch with your face oh-so-carefully expressionless, making you twist your hands slightly as though struggling not to wring them.

The child speaks, and you don't respond. He hesitates, then dares to tug lightly on your cheongsam, staring up at you with worried blue eyes. You thin your lips, ignoring him a second longer, then look down at him and smile brilliantly, ushering him back inside, presumably promising tea and treats.

You stop as you close the door, staring up the steps with a hint of worry showing in your mismatched eyes.

Is he late again? Your little pet human? What makes this time so special? He's done it before, and - presuming he's not got himself killed - will again.

Why do you look so worried, so tender? You'll only start screaming and throwing things when he does get here.

I do not understand you child. And I think it may be too late for you to be saved.


	25. Won't Hurt A Bit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next time Orcot got drunk, D would NOT be letting him into his shop.

"Detective! Control yourself!"

The man was drunk, that was clear. He'd arrived in the middle of the night, lurching down the steps, reeking of alcohol. If he hadn't had the forethought to bring a large box of chocolates with him, D would have left him on the doorstep to sober up.

"I mean it, Detective. Let me go or you will rue the day you stepped into this place."

He was starting to wish he had.

"Get your hands off me!"

If he had, he would not be in this situation; the detective would not be pinning him to the sofa, wearing a grin that could only be described as "demonic." D thrashed around, trying to wrench his arms free, but the detective was looming over him, holding his wrists with one hand and in the other -

_"De-TEC-tive!"_

D whimpered helplessly and started struggling in earnest. Orcot was sporting a rather long set of scratches on his cheek, which was probably how this whole mess got started.

"Relax D. It won't hurt at all."

No, that smile was far _beyond_ demonic.

"Come on, they're just nail clippers..."


	26. You give animals a bad name

It had happened again. It is almost amusing to watch, to see how far the mighty toutetsu had fallen.

I should tell him how much he looks like the detective, watching my grandson's post-coital expression as he nibbles at sweets and licks caramel off long painted nails. They give animals a bad name. Their tongues are nearly hanging out, their eyes are glazed, and it's obvious from their faces that they are trying not to watch and yet craving the sight with every fibre of their beings.

If T-chan fails to be suitably horrified, I shall kill him myself.


	27. Self Destruct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first thing to break was the beautiful china cup he'd been cradling.

The first thing to break was the beautiful china cup he'd been cradling; thrown across the room, shattering into a million tiny rainbow-glitter pieces and splashing cold tea around.

Next was the (now useless) telephone on the desk beside him; ripped from it's wires, the handset torn from the rest of the phone and twisted into unrecognisable shapes by slender, trembling hands.

Somewhere along the line, the sofa was knocked over, completely gutted and bleeding its stuffing. The curtains were torn down. The plate of pastries vanished, presumably smashed into the carpet - it was impossible to tell, as the lamps and incense burners had been doused or shattered.

The shop reeked of smoke and incense and anger and fear. The animals hid as far away from him as possible, trying to avoid catching the man's attention.

Nothing caught his attention. That was perhaps the problem, and why the destruction continued.

When D came back to himself, there was nothing untouched in the shop's main room. Nothing but the animals, staring at him with wide, terrified eyes.

The Count covered his face with his hands for a moment, the nails dark and deadly against his too-pale face. The detective's blood had soaked into his sleeve as he bandaged his wounds. His cheongsam still smelled of him faintly, of his blood and sweat and pain from when he'd been leaning on him.

A single tear had dried on his face. Perhaps that was more impressive than the destruction he had wrought.


	28. Pet Project

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seducing Vesca could have been an amusing project if he wouldn't try to reciprocate...

D doesn't sleep with Howell because he likes him, or even because he's desperate for sex. He does it for reasons that only make sense in his beautiful, twisted head.

He does it because it amuses him to watch Howell fall apart. It's a kind of project; How many ways can he make his pet collapse? How long does it take? When exactly should he stop to drive the man mad with frustration?

He's simply gathering information to enhance the teasing of his poor pathetic Vesca.

But if Howell can get there first - if he can drive D crazy instead of the other way around - if he can touch and kiss and - and - Then D gives up. Howell's won, and D will hiss and order, trying to not sound like he craves the attentions of a mere mortal.

If Howell's won, the look on D's face is usually anger. Contempt. Hatred. And - just a spark, just enough for Howell to notice and crave - awe.


	29. Fragile as Granite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D always looked delicate. [Spoilers for volume 10.]

D always looked delicate - fragile, maybe - like he'd break if you looked at him wrong. One of those porcelain dolls old ladies like to collect. Beautiful but untouchable. He felt that way too; when Leon grabbed his wrist, it had felt like he could snap it just by squeezing too hard.

It was bullshit.

D was about as fragile as granite. He wouldn't snap if grabbed him, wouldn't crumble away if you touched him. Hell, you could put BULLETS in him and he'd walk out just fine.

Nope, definitely not fragile.

At least, not on the outside. On the inside, behind the smoke and mirrors, where the bullets couldn't hurt and Leon couldn't (intentionally) reach him, he must have been.

Had to have been.

Leon knew what people looked like when something inside had broken. For ages after his mother died, he'd seen it in the mirror.

He saw it. When D pushed him off the ship, he saw it in D's eyes and considered - for the first time - that D might have been as fragile as he looked.


	30. Close Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon closes his eyes.

He dreams of eyes, mismatched and yet not, glittering behind dark hair. Eyes are supposed to be the windows to the soul, but these are more like mirrors. Look into D's eyes and all you'll see are things about yourself you'd have preferred to keep hidden.

_Leon closes his eyes._

He dreams of hands. Long, slender, strong as steel, capped with nails to slit throats with. Hands darting across a silver tray. Blood - his blood - dripping off nails, onto bright red lips. Hands drawing karma in broken lines with an expensive pen.

_Leon closes his eyes._

He dreams of dresses that aren't dresses, gilded in dragons and flowers, the colours bleeding and blurring together in his mind.

_Leon closes his eyes._

And he dreams of nothing at all.


	31. Everything looks like a good idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And when judgement comes, and your sins are counted, will your only defense be "it seemed a good idea at the time?"

At the time, it had seemed like a good idea. Leon was grouching, complaining about the paperwork, about the coffee, about the fact that the earth was still spinning. Dropping a few murder files onto his desk and sending him out to investigate had seemed like a _good idea._ Solve a few murders, get Leon out of his hair. Two birds with one stone.

Two years on, the annoying young man he'd sent to the petshop was aged, injured, bitter. Going off on what they both understood was a wild goose chase and not giving a damn.

He grabbed Leon's arm as he left, and all he could to say was "I'm sorry."

Leon didn't understand, but that night the chief lay in bed, listening to his wife snore and thinking of the man on a bus, dry chewing painkillers and counting out coppers, imagining what he would say if someone asked how he could have let him do it.

All he would be able to say.

_It had seemed like a good idea at the time._


	32. Not Like That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not supposed to be like this. I'm supposed to be me, and you're supposed to get your ass kicked. [Set post-series.]

"It's not supposed to be like this, you bastard. I'm supposed to walk in and kick your scrawny Chinese ass. Scrawny _immortal_ Chinese ass." He corrects himself quickly, fumbling for his lighter. He has never needed a cigarette more than he needs one right now.

"Oh really?" D's voice is light and neutral, and if Leon hadn't been listening very carefully, he might have missed the slight tremor to it.

"Yeah, really. You're supposed to have tea ready and a cake and shit, and the goddamn goat thing's supposed to be here trying to take a chunk out of me - "

"T-chan will be so pleased to find that his ministrations mean so much to you," D says dryly. "I think it is most fortunate for us both that we're on opposite ends of a phone line."


	33. Monkey Say, Monkey Mean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No means no. Yes means yes. Silence means whatever she feels like and can change without warning. Gossip just means you owe her your soul because whatever you did was BAD. [Set post-series.]

_Dear Leon,  
You bastard. You complete and utter bastard. Don't give me any excuses; I KNOW. I heard you telling the chief, remember? You didn't give HIM the full story any more than you gave it me.  
I never thought I'd say this - never thought I'd have to - but I miss you. It's like the world's turned upside down. There's no Hurricane Leon coming in yelling curses, trying to blame the weather on D, turning the breathing air white   
Yes I even miss your chain-smoking. God help me._

Jill took her glasses off, wiped her eyes.

Put her glasses back on, opened a new file.

A few days later, Leon managed to find an internet cafe and check his email. Four tons of spam, a few porn-site emails that he didn't dare open in a public place, and an email from Jill.

_Dear Leon  
So how've you been? Would it kill you to CALL occasionally? The Chief says to tell you that your replacement is even lazier than you, and I'll believe it. He's cute though. And a NON-SMOKER! Rob and his girlfriend are..._


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris had seen some pretty strange things in the petshop; the strangest had to be the Count in his finery, drinking a bottle of red wine on his own.

_"Count?"_

D seemed to take a long moment to focus on him, and when he did it took another for him to speak. "Go to bed Chris." His voice sounded fuzzy, like Leon's did when he came in really late and couldn't walk straight. "Your brother has a _date_ tonight; I doubt he'll be back until tomorrow."

_"Pon-chan's scared. She says someone stole you and left someone else who just looked like you."_

D laughed bitterly, looking at the half-empty wine bottle on the table, carefully placing his glass next to it.

"She may be right."


	35. Unhappy Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon had never bought Chris a birthday present. He spent the money on a present for someone else. [Spoilers for volume six.]

Leon had never bought Chris anything for his birthday. The first few years he'd been too raw, too hurt to get anything for the kid. Couldn't even stand to look at him on that day - when he'd stayed at Auntie's, he'd had to lock himself in his room, ignoring the patting at the door until Auntie shooed Chris away.

Now he was older, but he still didn't buy Chris a present - the kid knew, dammit, and even Leon wasn't that crass. But D had planned on having a special tea - not birthday tea, just special - so when Leon dropped Chris off without speaking, wearing something that could almost be classed as "dressy," D followed him to the car with a face like thunder.

Leon just showed him the bunch of flowers on the front seat. _Chris' birthday present,_ he said with a forced smirk. _Just delivering it to mom._


	36. And so I dub thee "Unclean"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How human was it, that 'purity' made him feel dirty, and the only by destroying it did he feel clean?

Somehow, seeing D's father made him feel... Unclean. Probably because of the way the man moved his eyes over him, like he was a specimen in a lab.

Or a cut of meat he was going to buy.

Or a joke.

The look on his face when Leon walked out of the "garden" was probably the most satisfying thing he'd seen in his life. In fact, he hadn't even realised D was there until he yelled.

He still felt dirty, even after D had a shot at cleaning him up. Still a piece of meat, if not the joke he'd been at first.

In fact, he didn't really feel clean until he put a bullet between the man's eyes.


	37. Bloody Handed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mister Perfect, you think you're pure?

D had always acted like he was so _pure._ So _virtuous._ So far above all the lowly mortals around him that they didn't even _matter_. A whole family could vanish because of something he sold them. A girl who loved him could die in a plane crash. So what? They were only humans. Only lowly, sin-stained humans.

How he could pretend he didn't have blood on his hands, Leon didn't know.

He asked him once, when he was drunk. Well, he didn't ask. He said a really stupid thing and he shoved D against the nearest wall, repeating that stupid thing, and D shoved him away and clawed him up accidentally for good measure.

D brought his hands to his face, leaning against the wall like it was the only thing holding him up, eyes so wide, breathing so hard, expression so _scared._

Leon brought a hand up to the long scratches across his chest. His fingers came away bloody.

_"So, D, how're you gonna say your hands are clean now?"_


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D had dithered about calling the detective, and after he did he didn't know whether to laugh at himself or weep.

The phone had been ringing for five minutes before the Detective answered, and the thick, groggy "D?" that came when he finally _did_ sounded as though it had taken all Leon's concentration.

"I apologise for disturbing you Detective -"

"Nah, s'okay." Something creaked and Leon swore. More creaking - it sounded suspiciously like bedsprings - and finally a flump. The cursing again, and what sounded like instructions for the room to stop spinning. Before D could chastise the Detective for his language, Leon asked "D? Where's th'aspirin?"

"It was in the bathroom cabinet if memory serves. Detective -"

"Jussasecond, jussasecond." More creaking, and apparently the Detective managed to stay upright this time (and from the sound of things, he managed to stagger down the hallway to his bathroom without banging into the walls _too_ many times, or breaking any bones). "Cabinet?"

"Yes. Second shelf, behind the mouthwash. Detective -"

"Jussasecond - aspirin, aspirin - _there_ it is - _shit!"_ The clattering of plastic on porcelain was presumably everything falling out of the cupboard. The detective swore fluently.

"Language, Detective."

"Ah, shaddup. Jill got me drunk t'day. Yesserday. Don' need your squawking,"

"I do not _squawk,_ Detective -"

"You're squawking, D."

D hmphed, refusing to stoop to the Detective's level and prove him right. He winced at the clatter in his ear - either Leon had accidentally allowed his phone to join the contents of his cabinet, or he'd put it down on the sink with his usual delicacy. Rustlings, plastic hitting plastic, and then taps running. The phone being picked up, and what sounded like Leon flumping down onto his bathroom floor.

"Yeah. Jill got me drunk. She thinks s'my birthday. But m'not havin' one. Chris can't have one, so I can't."

D's hand tightened suddenly on the receiver of the telephone.

Leon laughed bitterly. "'Sides. Shot a perp today. What a fuckin way to celebrate, right?"

D's free hand crept forwards, closing over a small box on the table. The silk he'd wrapped it in was cool and slippery under his fingers and, if memory served, it was the exact colour of the Detective's eyes. Not that the human would have noticed.

His voice was a soft murmur when he finally spoke. "Indeed, Detective. What a way to celebrate."


	39. Sugar and Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tastes like sugar and blood. I know that, and you never will. [Spoilers for volume 4.]

The Count looked like so much spun sugar and cream that it would be impossible to picture him tasting of anything else - even _before_ realising what a sweet tooth he had. And he did, on the surface - I know, after all. I had him pressed down into this very sofa, my tongue in his mouth, my hands roaming over him, tasting him.

Sugar, sweet and sticky on his lips from the treat I brought him. Expensive tea. Behind that, something that anyone else might have missed - the faint metallic tang of blood, and _that_ was what made me gasp and kiss him harder.

His skin would have tasted delicious. I know it. If I hadn't wasted my breath talking - if I'd just had a little more time - even a few heartbeats more - just a little more time to drag myself away from painted lips and move my mouth lower, following my hands as I unfastened his cheongsam -

But I didn't, did I. No point mourning what could have happened. Tormenting myself with how the Count would have tasted has no purpose except to drive me mad.

Of course, that never stopped me.

I can still remember exactly how he tasted. If I close my eyes at night, I can still taste him on my tongue, like he's _there,_ if I just roll over and reach out my hand. Most of the time he _is,_ but not in the way I'd like.

He would have tasted so, _so_ delicious.

Of course, it's ironic that what's destroying my sanity is the one thing that keeps it intact sometimes. When the blond idiot's around, yelling and pawing at the Count and trying to act like he's not dying to manhandle him _properly,_ every time he tries to kick at me, every time the Count rescues him from my fangs, I have something to gloat over. Something I would yell in his face if I thought he'd hear it.

_I know what he tastes like, bastard. And you never will._


	40. Fighting With Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good boys don't hit girls. Wait - you mean D's NOT a girl?!

Howell knew how girls fought. They pulled hair and spat curses and slapped and ripped out hair. He didn't fight with girls: even if they hit him first, he never hit them back.

That extended to D too: despite every conversation they had turning into an argument, he'd never smacked the bastard. Every wall on campus had born the brunt of his temper, sparing D's beautiful, feminine face.

In fact, the only thing that changed his mind was when D decided - for whatever reason - that Howell had gone to far and blacked his eye for him.

Punched.

Not slapped.

Once the ice pack was gone, and the swelling down enough that he could see, he walked into the lab and started a brawl. He lost - deliberately thankyouverymuch, because he couldn't go too hard on the bastard, seeing as he was a skinny little Chinese shortarse with a left hook Tyson would envy - but it was the most satisfying thing he'd done in ages.

From the proud smirk on D's face, he was thinking exactly the same thing.


	41. Misjudgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D left, and the world went on mute. [Spoilers for volume ten.]

In a few hours, the sun will come up. The drapes have been arranged so that the light will fall onto the face of the blond man on the bed. He will wake up slowly, arms sliding across the bed, feeling for someone who should be there but isn't. His brain will refuse to compute this and tell him, regretfully, to wake up.

He'll obey, slowly surfacing, waking to a bed that smells of sweat and sex and fine perfume. The colours will seem muted, and the sounds dimmed. He'll stare around him, knowing what's missing and refusing to believe it.

The rainbow of clothes in the wardrobe will be gone. The flat will be spotless, and there will be nearly no trace of his lover in the place. Claw marks on the headboard. A smudge of lipstick on his shirt. A few long black hairs caught in a hairbrush.

A note propped against the mirror, bearing a few words that were meant to shrivel his soul, anger him, make him wish to forget the man had ever existed.

Only decades later will D realise how badly he misjudged in writing that letter.


	42. In the beginning there was a voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the beginning, there was a voice that chanted biology theorems in an attempt to keep it's sanity at the expense of the child it spoke to. [Spoilers for volume ten.]

In the beginning, there was a Voice. It didn't seem to pay any attention to him, but it babbled to itself in the back of his mind, reciting

_My son - the only flaw with cloning and asexual reproduction is that any flaws in the parent are reproduced perfectly in the child - my son - father - Vesca - Howell - Damn you father - I WILL remember -_

things that made no sense in a hoarse whisper.

Eventually, when he was older, the voice shushed itself, only emerging to whisper advice and comfort, to snarl

_Damn you father_

vague threats and fury at Grandfather when he started to speak ill of

_my son_

the child's brother, or to laugh at Grandfather with furious hysteria.

_Ask him about his son,_

the Voice suggested once, when D wondered why it hated him so much.

_Ask him and see what he admits to. _

He never gets the opportunity to ask. If he looked at Grandfather when the voice was whispering, Grandfather reacted much as he did when the child asked about the

_biology theorems_

incomprehensible babble he woke up to sometimes.

Grandfather turned pale, lips thinning, and slapped the child.

For once, Grandfather and the Voice were in perfect agreement.

_I won't let what happened to my son happen to you._


	43. Stranger/Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's not like Christmas, you won't be loved more for hiding in your room."

"Chris?" She tapped the door. "You in there?"

Josie had been elected to fetch Chris on the grounds that Chris liked her, and she got on well with their visitor, which Dad Did Not Approve Of.

She knocked again, then opened the door. Chris was lying on the floor with a pad of paper in front of him and crayons scattered all over. The kid's face lit up when she came in, and he offered her a handful.

Oh. That explained it.

Chris didn't like being around strangers that much, and Josie was always sick of family gatherings after an hour or so, so they usually ended up in Chris' room drawing silly wax crayon pictures - like a bright green alien with three eyes eating a stickman-granddad and his stupid pipe.

"Come on big guy, time to go downstairs."

Chris' bottom lip started wobbling, and his eyes started tearing up - a trick he'd _definitely_ learnt off Sam - and Josie flumped down next to him.

"It's not like Christmas or New Year, big guy. Leon's not a stranger. He's your _brother."_


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If I survived then so did he" is not good logic.

They were cops.

Not only cops, but _homicide detectives._

Death was something you couldn't really get used to, buy if you saw it every day, it... Numbed you a little.

Looking at Leon, Jill had to wonder just how numb they really were.

"I'm sorry Leon, but there's no way -"

"I survived it, didn't I? I was at the centre of the blast and I'm still here."

"You were dead for two minutes and in a coma for three days." Jill snapped, then leaned over and caught one of Leon's hands. He didn't look at her face, instead staring at their hands. "D was always lucky, Leon. Always. But he's not you. He didn't have anybody keeping an eye on him and handing out miracles."


	45. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the years, D has given Leon... [Minor spoilers up to volume nine.]

Over the years, D has given Leon:  


  * Tea - strange tasting, always with too much sugar, even when he swears he's not put ANY in.  

  * Headaches - of the kind that that require at _least_ twelve beers to soothe.  

  * Plants - A gattolotto, very rare and almost addictive, flowered and died on a night when Leon was in hospital and unable to see it.  

  * A convenient place to leave his brother - What? It's not like D _does_ anything apart from sell killer pets and sit on his ass eating sweets all day.  

  * A butterfly, which Leon will never, ever mention in public lest it ruin his image.  

  * Amnesia - He knew it'd be a bad idea to drag the Count on vacation with them.  

  * Someone to talk to, confide in, and trust - which doesn't mean Leon _likes_ him or anything. Just that D doesn't laugh at him as obviously as Jill does.  

  * A black eye - which, all things considered, is the most normal thing D's ever given him.




	46. Never Seemed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, things are exactly what they seem. [Spoilers up to and past volume ten.]

Leon never seemed happy on the rare occasions he visited. Every time Chris spoke to Sandy - or rather, whenever he crowed "Mom!" at the top of his voice - Leon winced and headed outside for a smoke. He spent most of his visits that way, sat on the porch with a cigarette and a beer.

Chris never seemed sure what to call his aunt and uncle after Sam told him about his mom. Even in his own mind, he kept thinking of them as his parents. He always had to think before he mentioned them to Leon - if he called them his mom and dad, Leon always looked furious, then sad, then dropped him off at the Count's.

D never seemed comfortable around the youngest member of his family. At times, he would be an almost normal child, one that idolised and mimicked his Da Geh. But then - for a few seconds - it would be his father staring at him from those wide violet eyes, twisting the child's face into an unholy grin, all the more disturbing for the affection it held.


	47. Diamonds Are Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diamonds are forever, but those who annoy Leon Orcot aren't.

It was the diamond that got Leon's attention - or at least the sparkle on Jill's third finger.

He caught her hand as she walked past, turning in his chair and holding her hand up to his face and raising an eyebrow. He was no expert, but even _he_ could tell it was quality - a diamond in a delicate gold band.

Jill was blushing slightly, but managed to glare at him over her glasses and inform him "Before you ask, no it's not what you think. It was just a present."

"Pretty fancy for 'just a present.'"

Jill's colour rose a little more. "Not all men are as cheap as y-"

Phil walked in, shouting something back over his shoulder, something that died as he turned and looked at the tableau before him. Leon twisted around in his office chair, holding Jill's hand, and both of them looking at the damn ring, Jill blushing like a new bride.

Phil dropped his coffee. Muttered "Jesus _Christ."_ Bolted down the corridor. Failed miserably to muffle his laughter.

Jill and Leon looked at each other, then chased after him.

"Phil!"

"Dammit, you asshole, it wasn't what it looked like!"


	48. Eat Your Heart Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T-chan couldn't really answer Chris' question, because 'weird' for him was completely off the scale for Chris. [Spoilers for volume four and the story about Chef Wong.]

_"Hey, T-chan?"_ Chris was sat on a worktop, at a safe distance but still close enough to pass the toutesu things.

"Yeah?" Today, he was making cakes for the Count, all chocolate and cream swirls, dotted with strawberries. Q-chan had been trying to sneak pieces until T-chan smacked him with a spatula. The babbit had gone off to fuss over D - or at least to complain about how maltreated he was. Now the only one T-chan had to worry about was Pon-chan; the raccoon was eyeing up the bowl of melted chocolate.

_"What's the weirdest thing you ever ate?"_

"The _weirdest -?"_

T-chan was a man-eating toutetsu. _Weird_ could be used to describe his entire diet, as Chris' big brother knew. Unborn children, teenage runaways, anything with enough meat on its bones... None of it seemed weird to _him,_ but...

The one thing that ranked as unusual, even to him? A once-in-a-lifetime taste. Literally.

His own heart.

There wasn't any way he could describe it. He's eaten _other people's_ hearts before, sure, but his own? Technically, it should have been the same - apart from the fact that his body had died mid-bite, of course. A heart was a heart was a heart. But... It had been _his._ It had been...

There wasn't any way in hell he _could_ say any of that to the kid, let alone _would._

Pon-chan had taken advantage of his distraction and stolen the bowl of chocolate. T-chan glared at her, raising the spatula that had vanquished Q-chan.

Chris didn't get the significance of "A fat racoon dipped in chocolate," but laughed at him chasing Pon-chan round the kitchen anyway.


	49. Orange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Count wasn't the only one Chris gaves pictures too. [Spoilers for volume ten.]

"It's orange." Kanan observed once Chris had gone.

Shuko sighed. "He _did_ explain why, Kanan."

"Because he used all the yellow on a picture of that racoon of his, I _know._ But _orange!"_

"I like it," Junrei said. "I think it's sweet."

"Did I say I didn't like it?" Kana demanded, yanking on their hair. "I was just saying that it was _orange!"_

Shuko smoothed one small hand over the wax crayon drawing, smiling softly. It was a picture of the three of them - separate, as they could only dream of being. Kanan looked angry, waving her arms around. Junrei looked like she was crying. Shuko herself was between them, smiling a crooked red wax smile.

And yes, their robes were orange instead of gold.

"You meant it when you said he was going to leave, didn't you?" Junrei asked finally.

Shuko nodded.

"We could keep him. He's _our_ master. We could keep him with our treasures." Kanan sounded desperate, pleading, resigned.

"No we can't. He needs to go back to his own kind." It was Shuko who stared sadly at the picture, smoothing it and tracing the lines with her fingers, and Junrei who crossed the room and carefully pinned the drawing to a wall, using a pair of pins that were undoubtedly not meant to be stuck in walls (She _was_ only a child after all. What child worried about things like that?)

"We're keeping this, though." Junrei sounded tearful but satisfied.

Kanan nods, looking close to tearful herself, but can still find it within herself for a sharp "Well, we need _something_ to remind us to wear more orange, don't we?"


	50. D is for Damaged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon's collected scars over the years. [Post-series.]

Leon had collected a hell of a lot of scars over the years. One on his leg, involving a broken bottle and untied shoelaces. One on his side where a perp had tried to stab him. A handful of bullet holes. A huge bite mark on his thigh that, the doctors informed him, was not made by any animal they knew about. Four long, jagged white lines; the legacy of the first animals to find him in D's father's private zoo, running near enough parallel to where D had slashed him with his fingernails that time at Christmas.

Most of them were pretty easy to cover, and most of the women who saw the faded lines didn't care. Hell, some thought they were _sexy._ The others saw what Leon saw after a few too many hours with alcohol instead of painkillers: damaged goods.


	51. D is for Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hadn't expected to find D immediately. [Set post-series.]

He hadn't expected to find D _immediately,_ but he'd expected to find him quickly. A couple of weeks at most – he was a detective, wasn't he? And a damn good one at that!

The days drew out slowly, an eternity of stale smelling buses and cheap motels. Days filled with confusing maps, the bright shops and loud voices of China Town, smudging news print as he searched for the place to look. Nights which were a blur of aches and painkillers or alcohol and staring at the ceiling or the city lights until he fell asleep and started dreaming of things that were almost as frustrating as his daily life.

He didn't realise just how many days had gone past until Jill called him and asked where he'd been for the last two months, the North Pole?

Two months?

Two months of what seemed to be the same goddamn day over and over again?

Two months and he _still_ hadn't found D?

_… Shit._


	52. Love Triangles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon got caught in his first love triangle when he was twelve.

The first time Leon got caught in a love triangle, he was twelve. He and Harry had both got serious crushes on a girl who lived down the street. The trouble was, she hadn't known about it, and insisted on treating them both the same – equally nice, trying to spend equal time with them, trying not to play favourites.

They'd had a brawl over who was going to ask her out. Leon _so_ won that fight, because he'd only got a black eye and loads of bruises on his ribs. Harry got a bloodied nose, a split lip, and the biggest bruise _ever_ on his shin.

Of course, the girl in question heard about this and never spoke to either of them again. Such are the perils of young love.

There've been other triangles since then, and Leon nearly always got dumped for the other guy. His problems now can't be settled with a fist fight though.

Or at least, this one can't.

See, he kindasortamaybe in love with a _guy,_ which is a hell of a problem.

The guy in question is a suspect, which is a whole new level of problematic.

The big mother of them all though, the one that requires at least three beers before it's even _thought_ about, is that D has _half the goddamn city_ chasing his ass.

Does that even count as a triangle any more?


	53. The Enemy of Mine Enemy...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They didn't have enemies. Worshippers, servants and victims, but no enemies.

The D's didn't have enemies. They had worshippers, they had servants, they had people who adored them and people who feared them. There were those who hated them.

However, everyone succumbed to them eventually, to either their charm or their animals. Even those that hated them would respect or admire them.

Of course, there were exceptions. Only a few in each century. Those that were impervious to their charm, saw at least part way through their lies, and managed to wriggle through carefully maintained defences and gain a sliver of their affection. They neither loved nor hated the Ds, and often neither respected nor feared them. In most cases, they merely _liked_ them, as though they were another mortal instead of a god.

They were dangerous, these exceptions. Luring the kami away from their duties, trying to make them forget their revenge.

D had been warned of all that by his grandfather. He understood it.

But he wasn't sure he could comprehend a scruffy American chain smoker as his _enemy._


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone's holding you back, clutching at your arms to stop you diving into the room and killing him. [Contains incest, second-person POV.]

Someone's holding you back, clutching at your arms to stop you diving into the room and killing him. You don't know who they are – you're too angry to even see straight, which is probably good for them because if they don't let you go _right now_ you're going to _rip them apart._

You know who's clutching at your waist though; it's Pon-chan, chanting "please" and "stoppit" and "T-chan you _can't_ you'll be _killed"_ and she's right. You know she's right. You just don't care. You want to explain it to her, you really do, you want her to understand so she can make the others let you go.

_Look,_ you want to say to her, to them. _Our loyalty's to the Count. Anyone who hurts him dies. We killed his sister for less than this, I'm not afraid of taking on his Grandfather._ But all that's coming out of your mouth are growls and threats, and all your struggling' no good when there's six of them digging claws and teeth into you – they'll drag you back in pieces if they have to, and you suppose that He thinks it's funny proving that the animals' fear of him outweighs their loyalty to his grandson.

You're not going to give up though, are you? Not while D's sitting demure and proper on the sofa, hands clasped so tightly he's drawing blood, face averted from his grandfather and eyes focused on the floor. Not while he's letting long nailed fingers trail through his hair and down his chest, while a face so similar to his own presses against his throat and whispers lies into his skin.

You swore your loyalty to the Count, not to his family. You'll fight till the death for him, even if he won't.


	55. D is for Dismissal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon's nightmares are really quite simple. [Post-series.]

One of Leon's nightmares, one of the ones that send him stumbling out of bed at stupid hours of the morning for a drink of water and a cigarette, is very simple. Barely even a nightmare at all.

In it, he's searching for D (It's not as if he's not doing enough of that during the _day,_ is it?). He doesn't know where he is, which is a usual state of affairs for him. All the cities he's been to, all the China Towns he's ransacked, they've all blurred into one. Not just inside his head, but outside of it: they all look the same to him. People and voices and landmarks are all one mess of city and humanity to him.

But in his dream, he's walking through a city – not even the China Town – skirting round chattering clumps of people and trying to spot something. A sign? A hotel? D? He never remembers when he wakes up. All he remembers is that he's craning to see over and around people, and the bunch in front of him finally shift their lazy asses out of his way.

And D's there.

Right in front of him.

In his dream, he'll start forwards – maybe to punch him, or shake him, or hug him, or _something_ – but then he meets D's eyes and stops.

It's not that he's found D's granddad instead of D. He'd be almost be _relieved _if that was all it was.

It's that D's eyes move over him like he's not even there, like he's just another face in the crowd. No recognition, no acknowledgement, no anything. He might as well not have been there for all the reaction he got.

D's eyes skim over him, and then he turns and walks away. And Leon can't move, can't chase after him, can't even _speak_ until D's gone his way and left him behind again.


	56. The Devil of Christmas Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas was supposed to be a time of good will, when people set aside their differences to enjoy the company of acquaintances and family members they would otherwise avoid. [Set pre-series, crack.]

Christmas was supposed to be a time of good will, when people set aside their differences to enjoy the company of acquaintances and family members they would otherwise avoid. Even if they needed industrial strength alcohol to aid in the enjoying.

For most pet shop owners, it was the busiest time of year. That was definitely the case for a certain gold eyed kami; that day he'd sold ten contracts before he even got a chance to look at his mail. There were a handful of what were undoubtedly seasonal love letters, a letter from Alex and Norma – with a German postmark for some reason – and an envelope addressed to him in an unfamiliar hand.

The return address belonged to his son.

There was no letter inside, no note. Just a photograph. A photograph that held D spellbound, face white and gold eyes wide.

In the photo, a small dark haired child – undoubtedly his grandson – stared seriously at the camera from the lap of a man with long black hair flowing around him and an expression of unholy amusement on his face. He held the boy protectively though, and the boy in turn was clutching a… A huge _teddy bear._

It was at that point that D swore his son was not fit to even _look_ at the child again.


	57. Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He really would've done it. [Spoilers for volume ten.]

He really would've done it.

He would have pushed that button and destroyed the whole human race.

Howell should've been the one to stop him, right? Howell was the one who'd been chasing after _that_ D for god knows how long, didn't Howell get that as a reward or something?

Howell didn't want it though, did he? That's why he wouldn't just _finish_ it, why he kept shooting until the gun was clicking empty, why D's old man was still on his feet - not even _swaying,_ dammit. Smiling. The fake little D smirk that meant whatever you were so certain of was wrong.

He would've done it.

Leon didn't give him the chance.


	58. Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a difference between the monsters Leon brought in and the monster whose only response to a contract going bad was a smile. [Spoilers for volume ten.]

D wasn't human - he'd known that all along, even if he didn't really believe it. Sure, he'd seen humanity at its worst during his time on the force, but there was a difference between the monsters Leon brought in and the monster who sold freaky pet after freaky pet, whose only reaction to it going wrong was a smile.

Human monsters were real - something he could grab, slap some handcuffs on, and lock away forever. D was more like a shadow, a will-o'-the-wisp. Something you couldn't trap.

Something you couldn't stop with a bullet to the head, either.


	59. Dream'd a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon wasn't entirely sure about the mermaid in his dream, but it was typical of what would show up with D.

Romeo: I dream'd a dream to-night.  
Mercutio: And so did I.  
Romeo: Well, what was yours?  
Mercutio: That dreamers often lie.  
Romeo: Aye, in bed asleep, while they do dream things true.

* * *

Leon has always dreamt about people he knows - or, in the case of his more fun dreams, people whose bodies he's practically memorised - so it doesn't freak him out perhaps as much as it should've to find himself dreaming about D. The mermaid though, _that_ he isn't too sure of but it was the sort of thing that _would_ show in a dream with D.

(He finds himself thinking about Evangeline Blue though, and that isn't the sort of thing he needs first thing in the morning. It was better than the flesh eating rabbits though...)

In his dreams, there's that beach they went to the other week, the week he's forgotten; and there's Chris, and D being even more of a spaz than usual, and - and a volcano, he thinks. Something like that. Something that makes the ground shake and the air taste like ash in his mouth, even this far out on the -

That was it. There was a mermaid, and an old geezer who suddenly wasn't so old, and there was a boat. A boat with him and D on, and D standing at the railing, smiling at him oddly. D had said something - something about forgetting.

Leon stares at his bedroom ceiling, eyes tracing over the curve of a blonde pin-up's ass without really seeing it, trying to pull the threads of a dream back to him before they vanished entirely. This is important - dream or no dream (and when it came to D he's starting to believe that no, they really aren't dreams) he needs to remember.

There'd been a question, he remembered that.

More importantly, there'd been an answer.


	60. Different Ideas of Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon, why are you doing this? [Post-series.]

Once, way back in the beginning when Leon was still looking for things he could use to arrest D, Jill had stopped him midrant, as he was putting on his jacket. She can't remember what it was about - probably about how D was to blame for forty murders and the weather.

_Leon. Why are you doing this?_

I'm trying to bring him to justice -

Really? It looks more like harrassment.

Now, looking at the postcard _(Germany's cold and the beer's weird. Missed D by a day.)_ she wonders if leading Leon over the world is _D's_ idea of justice.


	61. Playing Cops and Robbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can know the rule book and the procedure back to front and it won't matter. [Spoilers for the story with the butterfly.]

You can know the rule book and the procedure back to front and it won't matter. It's no good just knowing the theory - you need practice. Theory's useless without experience.

Hell, sometimes - when you're running through the streets of LA after armed bank robbers, when there's suddenly blood and bone fragments where your partner's head should be, when the guy with the gun against his own head is the guy you used to play catch with when you were a kid - it's pretty goddamn useless even _with_ experience.

It's not like there's a procedure for it anyway.


	62. Ifs and Maybes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If if if if. [Spoilers for volume ten.]

If D hadn't pushed Leon off the ship.  
If Leon hadn't used that last bullet.  
If Howell hadn't opened fire.  
If Leon hadn't got into that car.  
If D hadn't left.

Hell, go back further.

If Chris hadn't gone back to his aunt and uncle.  
If he'd never come to LA in the first place.  
If Leon had arrested D the first chance he got - or given up when the charges didn't stick.  
If the Chief had put him on patrol duty instead of throwing him something from the currently-unsolved-murder file to shut him up.

Go back far enough, and there had to be a point where all this could've been stopped.


	63. A Certain Lack of Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon wrote postcards and Jill sent emails. (Set post-series.)

They kept in touch after Leon left.

(Leon wrote postcards. _This is where I am. This is how close I was._

Jill sent emails, long, chatty things written with a breeziness so false even Leon couldn't have mistaken it. _This is what's happened, this is what you're missing, this is what you'll have to come back to eventually._)

There was no actual conversation involved - if he checked his email, he never mentioned anything, and Jill never asked about the places he'd been. He probably spent the time too focused on D to even notice where he was.

(Leon rang her apartment while she was at work and left drunken messages on her answerphone. _It was real, I don't care what you say. It was real and I'm not giving up, because I'm gonna find the bastard and drag his skinny as back to LA._

Jill left him a slightly more sober message in return. _Remind me why I'm doing your job as well as mine? Try going here next, there's been a series of animal attacks._)

Still, they'd been partners long enough that they knew what they meant, even without the conversation.

(_I was right, it was real, this is all I've got left._

Good luck. Be careful. Come back before you lose what little sanity you have left.)

At least this way, Leon had to let her have her say instead of arguing every five seconds.


	64. Wanted: Dead Or Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In LA, he could drink what he wanted. [Set post-series.]

LA was whatever he wanted. (More accurately, what he could afford after buying treats for D, and what he could convince D not to pour down the sink on his cleaning rampages.

New York was coffee. (He slurped it mechanically, even though it had gone cold while he explained what he was going to do. It was easier than meeting Chris' eyes.)

Berlin was beer. (It tasted weird; that blond guy Leon had fought a lifetime ago really didn't know what he was talking about when he said it was better than American beer.)

St Petersburg was vodka. (He'd called Jill while under the influence, which was probably a mistake. He remembered telling her seriously that it was _Russian_ vodka, and that was important for some reason. He remembered her telling him he was an idiot, and he should go home before he got himself killed. No, that wasn't what she'd said. She'd said he should _come_ home, and that was important too. Trouble was, he couldn't think why.)

Hong Kong was tea. (Not that he got to drink it; as soon as he walked through the door, D dropped the teapot and ran.)


	65. Great Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D had expected better of him. [Spoilers for volume ten.]

D had expected better of him. Howell had been a _scientist,_ first and foremost, and given time he might even have become a competent one. D had given the detective to his garden because there had been no better place for a beast; Vesca, he had honestly expected to do better in his attempt to stop him.

Still, he wasn't surprised when Vesca pointed a gun at him, nor when the detective pulled the trigger. Humans went for the easiest solution, the sword to the Gordian knot.

D had expected better of him. He'd expected Vesca to finish it himself.


	66. Twelve Days of Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the first day of Christmas, Jill got a postcard dated September. [Set post-series, written for Christmas 2007.]

On the first day of Christmas, Jill got a postcard dated September, with Leon's usual inky-millipede-death handwriting smudged and blurred like someone had dropped it in a puddle. It was probably Leon. As far as she could tell, all it said was that Leon would do something that she wasn't going to try too hard to work out before he spent winter in Saint Petersburg, and he'd tell her where he was going when he got there.

On the third day of Christmas, Jill finally revised an annoyed email to the point where she didn't think it was going to blind Leon when he finally got to a computer and read it - although, having seen Leon's décor, she had to say that _nothing_ could blind him - and sent it.

On the seventh day of Christmas, Jill finally had a day off. She spent it doing her Christmas shopping, and wasted an hour trying to pick out something for Leon before she remembered herself. By the ninth day of Christmas though, she had his present organised and emailed to him; every recent case she could find that had a suspicious, animal related death. The _Chief_ had dropped a list on her desk a couple of days ago, which made the job faster. She couldn't imagine what Leon would say when he saw it.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, Jill did her usual round of phone calls, wishing family and friends she wouldn't see a merry Christmas. She spent ten minutes looking at her phone, checking her decorations, looking at her case files, and looking at her phone, then gave in and called Leon. There was no answer.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, Jill was woken up by her phone at three o'clock in the morning. When she answered it, it was Leon's voice on the other end, _laughing,_ and she was already grinning before she heard what he was saying - "I did it! I found him!"


	67. One for Remembrance, One for Forgetting, and One for Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what Howell wishes he remembered. [Spoilers for volume ten.]

This is what Howell wishes he remembered: every gesture of D's long white hands. Every cruel smirk and jibe D made, at his expense and at everyone else's. What him and D talked about when they were getting an experiment ready. The lies D told as easy as breathing.

This is what Howell actually remembered: D's eyes, a bright unnatural purple that made girls go weak at the knees - and a few of the guys too. D's smirk, painted on a few shades darker than his eyes. D walking out of the lab one evening, promising Howell that he'd get something to eat with him the next day, if he really insisted, and never coming back.

This is what Howell regretted: that all he can remember of what D actually looked like is the grainy photo they used in the news when his disappearance hit the headlines, the one of D turning away from the camera, so they got a great shot of D's hair flaring around him in a cloud and the faintest touch of his smile. That he looks at the photo in Orcot's file, and all he can think is _So that's what you looked like._


	68. Falling Through Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was falling - [Set after volume ten.]

_He was falling -_

Leon had told D to leave him - he couldn't walk, he wasn't going to let D _carry_ him and get himself killed - had told D he had no interest in dying with him, had turned his own joke back on him - D could fly, right? And Leon couldn't, and he wasn't going to have D's death on his conscience. D had answered by throwing them both off that endless staircase.

They'd fallen together, LA changing from pinpricks to streaks of light as they dropped. Leon opened his mouth to scream, and the air dragged it away. The last thing he saw was D, calm and unruffled as ever, fingers twined with Leon's like he was promising never to let go.

_He was falling -_

D's hands were cold and shaking when he touched Leon's chest, and D pressed them against him as though to cover it. He was smiling, lips curling like they were talking about the latest case or what Chris had done during the day, voice just as calm. Leon heard what D was saying, but he wasn't listening - he'd been staring at the single tear sliding down D's cheek, bringing his arms up to - to do something -

And D had pushed him off the ship.

_He was falling - _

The world was spread out below him, getting bigger every second, but it was D he kept his eyes on - D looking down at him from the ship, a slender pale shape that was soon lost into nothing -

_He was falling - _

He woke up screaming in the hospital. He didn't even have to ask - Leon looked at Jill, and kept looking at her until she dropped her eyes and picked up the battered suitcase.

_He was falling - _

Leon closed his eyes at night after popping a minimum of eight pills, and every night it was the same dream over and over again.

_He was falling - _


	69. Chapter 69

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All D had managed to glean from Norma's tirade over the phone was that they had been invited to Christmas dinner with Alex and "that hag." [Set pre-series, written for Christmas 2008. Deals with Sofu D and the vampires.]

All D had managed to glean from Norma's tirade over the phone was that they had been invited to Christmas dinner with Alex and "that hag." She might have given more specifics at some point, but D had tired of her rage rather quickly and set the phone down on the table while he sold a young man a pair of lovebirds. As she was still ranting about Alex's wife when he returned some ten minutes later, she hadn't noticed his absence.

Finally though, she paused - from past experience, he presumed only to draw breath - and D asked mildly "Is there anything else?"

Norma huffed, the noise rattling down the telephone and making D wince. "It doesn't bother you at all, does it? Him and that - that -"

"I have said everything I needed to. Alex knows my feelings on the matter."

There was a long silence from the other end, before Norma said "We should have our own little celebration. Just the two of us." Her voice dropped to a low purr, the words curling from her like smoke. "A _proper_ celebration, like the three of us used to have before he discovered respectability."

D smiled, remembering the _last_ "celebration" Norma and Alex had held. It had been... A sight to behold, certainly. Norma had whirled through the city, leading them to the choicest venues, finding specimens of humanity that made D's stomach turn.

Finding them, and putting them to good use for once in their lives. Alex and Norma had glowed with borrowed warmth for days afterwards.

"To show Alex what he's given up."

"Exactly."


	70. Rehearsal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's been rehearsing a speech all month.

Jill spent the first month or so mentally rehearsing a speech. The contents changed fairly regularly, but it often started with "You just dropped off your resignation and _left?_" and worked up to "The Count dies in an explosion and you go scouring the country for him?!"

"I can't believe you just left me behind without even saying goodbye," went in, got removed, and went back in.

But when Leon finally called, all of her speeches flew out of her head. She was half-laughing and half-crying, and all she could say was "I'm _so angry_ with you. Are you okay?"


	71. Signs of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon's late again.

"You're _late_, Detective," D snapped as he came into the parlour; it was past midnight, and Chris had long since gone to bed. He had expected Leon to roll in drunk and obnoxious, but he found Leon on the couch looking harrowed and grey, and his lecture died in his throat.

"Yeah, I should've called," Leon said, voice a rough croak. "Had a case." He smiled without humour. "Not one of yours. Murder-suicide. Perp got his wife and kids, no pets."

The pets clustered around Leon; for once, he allowed it. "Just thought I'd come here to see some life."


	72. Stop your ears with wax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon would swear he could hear singing.

"Do you hear singing? I swear I can —"

"Detective," D said.

"Sounds like that singer. What's her name? Something Blue?"

"Detective."

Orcot looked across the bay, expression distracted. The night was rolling in quickly, only the light of a boat in the bay disturbing the peace. 

_"Detective!"_

D pressed his hands over Orcot's ears, and Orcot appeared to be so shocked by the contact that he allowed it. D turned Orcot's face from the sea.

The water around the boat roiled, but Orcot didn't notice, and D was not inclined to mention it until the mermaids had finished feeding.


	73. Resumed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything was as it should be.

Everything in the shop moved in a very measured fashion, now. The animals had their parties and their dramas, but kept them to the back rooms and hushed when they were told. The shop opened and closed at its prescribed hours, with no urgent visitors banging on the doors demanding birds or tigers or anything else.

The Count moved through the shop with his smile painted on, his work ceaseless and demanding, his contracts resolved swiftly and mercilessly. Everything back to how it should be. Everything under control.

For the first time, the Count realised how long eternity could be.


	74. Civil Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon and the Count fighting was mainly scary when it was quiet.

Leon and the Count had been arguing again, but they hadn't shouted and yelled this time. They'd sat opposite each other, heads bowed over the table, talking in very quiet voices and shooing Chris away whenever he came in.

They weren't talking about sending him away again. They weren't. Even _T-chan_ said they weren't. But Chris still crept around, trying to be helpful so they wouldn't want to. Leon had looked really sad, but the Count had smiled, so it was fine, right? 

Except that the Count's cup was cracked in half where he'd been holding it, so maybe not.


	75. Lovable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D cannot love humans. [Implied spoilers for volumes ... 7 and 9?]

He cannot love humans. There is nothing for him to love that is not drowned in their pettiness and greed and destruction. And it is against his purpose – all he needs to do is set the wheels of fate in motion and observe the results; there is no space for love.

And yet when faced with the opportunity to have Chris leave, D acts to keep him. When Leon is in pain – in _danger_ – D reaches out a hand to ease him. Count D cannot love humans, and yet –

These are only the tiniest sparks, but from sparks grow fires.


	76. Not all are Theseus

The corridors are a maze, all twists and steady slopes down, down, further below L.A. Part of Leon's brain refuses to process it; there's no way anything this big could be below the streets of Chinatown. But he remembers Chris talking about adventures.

Something rumbles back the way he came. Not the rumble of machinery, the rumble of something large, heavy and definitely _alive_ starting to run, a howl rising through the shop.

And a voice like D's if all trace of humanity had been stripped out, one he _knows_ isn't D's, said "What is a labyrinth without its minotaur?"


End file.
